PROLOGUE
The sun dipped low in the Nevada sky as Julian, a docent at the Silver Sage Museum of Natural History, made his way through the dimly lit insect wing. His footsteps echoed against the polished stone floor, mingling with the soft murmurs of the few lingering guests. The museum's closing time had arrived, and though Julian was eager to finish his shift and escape the suffocating stillness of the insect displays, he maintained a friendly demeanor as he approached each visitor.
"Thank you for coming," he said with a practiced smile, gently guiding an elderly couple toward the exit. "We hope to see you again soon."
"Such a fascinating place," the old man replied, his eyes twinkling with genuine appreciation. "We'll definitely be back."
Julian nodded and ushered them out, his mind already racing ahead to his plans for the evening. Going home, relaxing on the couch... yes, that sounded just perfect.
Just then, one of the security guards came over, a somewhat distressed look on his face. “Julian, did you see any shady characters around here?” he asked. “A customer mentioned they saw someone odd milling about.”
Julian frowned, racking his brain for the information, but came back empty-handed. “No one that stood out.”
The guard nodded. “It was probably nothing then. I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he took off. Julian thought nothing more of it; they were a busy museum, and sometimes people came in to steal or something, and that was probably all it was.
Julian focused his attention on clearing out the remaining guests. As the heavy doors swung shut behind the final couple, the silence in the wing seemed to deepen. Julian paused for a moment, listening to the faint hum of air conditioning and the rustle of wings in the live butterfly exhibit.
"Is anyone else here?" he called out, raising his voice just enough to carry through the shadowy corridors. When no reply came, Julian allowed himself a sigh of relief. He could finally close up. It had been a long, arduous day tending to the exhibits and greeting guests, and he couldn't wait to go home.
As he turned to head back to the front desk, however, something caught his eye. On one of the benches nestled between the glass cases of beetles and moths, a man lay sprawled out, his back turned to Julian as if asleep. Julian frowned, annoyance prickling at the edges of his thoughts. How had he missed this straggler?
"Sir?" he called, approaching cautiously. "The museum is closing. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
The man didn't stir, his body stiff as a board on the bench. Julian's heart began to beat a bit faster, his unease growing. Was the man drunk? Ill? He drew closer, noting the pallor of the man's skin and the unnatural stillness
that seemed to surround him.
"Sir?" he asked again, his voice wavering slightly. "Are you alright?"
As Julian reached out a hesitant hand to shake the man's shoulder, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of strange twist of fate had led this particular visitor to fall asleep in the insect wing, surrounded by the creeping, crawling creatures that inhabited the displays. And more importantly, he wondered how he was going to handle the situation if the man refused to wake up.
With a deep breath, Julian steeled himself and reached out to shake the man's shoulder. "Sir, wake up," he urged, his voice firmer this time. As he touched the man's arm, an icy chill shot through him, freezing the words in his throat. The man's skin was like marble – cold and unyielding.
"Hey, mister!" Panic edged Julian's voice as he shook the man more vigorously, but it was no use. There was no response, no rise and fall of the chest. Julian pulled at his shoulder, and the man limply fell to his back, revealing his man's eyes – wide open, staring glassily at the ceiling.
And that was when Julian noticed the blood.
A pool of it through the man's shirt, as though he'd been stabbed in the chest.
Julian screamed, his hand instinctively flying to his mouth as he stared in horror at the lifeless figure before him. At that moment, a grotesque detail caught his attention: a small, dead caterpillar lay on the man's forehead.
"Wh-what's going on?" Julian stammered, his mind racing with questions. How had this happened? Who had done this?
As the realization set in, Julian's chest tightened, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He needed help. Now. Fumbling for his walkie-talkie, he pressed the button to connect with security, his voice shaking.
"Security, this is Julian in the insect wing. I-I need assistance immediately. There's a man here... he's... he's not breathing. He looks like he's been stabbed. Send help now, please!"
"Copy that, Julian. We're on our way," crackled the voice on the other end, only serving to
deepen the pit of dread in Julian's stomach.
"Please hurry," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the dead man on the bench. The caterpillar, dead on the man's forehead, seemed to mock him.
And Julian couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just stumbled upon something much more sinister than he could ever imagine.
CHAPTER ONE
The stifling summer air weighed heavy on Fiona's chest as she sat in the passenger seat of Jake's car, her heart pounding in anticipation. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, but she barely noticed it as Jake steered the car up the winding dirt road towards the dilapidated old house that loomed in the darkness. If their informant was to be believed, it was the place where they might finally find closure for the horror that had haunted Fiona's family for ten years.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Fiona asked, her voice barely audible over the crunching of gravel beneath the tires. She stared out the window at the decaying structure, shrouded in shadows and despair, and tried to push away the image of her sister, Joslyn's, face that flashed through her mind.
"Positive," Jake replied, his grip tightening on the wheel. "The witness said a man named Damien used to come here all the time with a car that matches the description of the one Marcus thought he saw Damien in."
Fiona clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as a surge of anger coursed through her. If this was the man who had taken Joslyn – who had destroyed so many lives – she would make sure he paid for his crimes. She wouldn't allow him to evade justice any longer.
This was the closest Fiona had ever gotten. Finding out the possible name of the man who had taken her older sister from the beach ten years ago was huge, possibly life-shattering. The tip had come from Marcus, a man who used to work with Marissa--the woman who had apparently been in a relationship with Damien, if that was his real name. Marissa had lured girls into Damien's trap, but then she had taken her own life behind bars before Fiona could get his name from her. Then they'd tracked down Marcus, who used to work with Marissa at a fast food restaurant when they were teenagers. Marcus was sure that Damien was the name of Marissa's boyfriend, a man he'd seen her arguing with before.
And their research into this possible man, Damien Blackwood, had led them here.
"Stay close to me," Jake said as he turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. Fiona followed suit, the gravel crunching beneath her boots as they approached the house. Its rotting wood groaned and creaked in protest as if warning them not to enter. But Fiona refused to be deterred. She had come too far and lost too much to back down now.
"Watch your step," Jake whispered, pushing open the door with a slow, agonizing creak that sent shivers down Fiona's spine. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever waited inside, and stepped over the threshold.
The darkness was nearly suffocating, seeming to seep into every crevice and corner of the house as they moved cautiously forward, their flashlights cutting through the shadows like knives. The air was thick with the scent of decay and mold, and Fiona couldn't help but feel as though she were walking through the belly of some monstrous beast.
"Spread out," Jake instructed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But don't go too far. We don't know what might be in here."
"Or who," Fiona added, her fear battling with her anger. She knew that every step she took brought her closer to the truth – the truth about what had happened to Joslyn and all the other girls who had been taken by this monster. She wouldn't give up until she found it, even if it meant facing the darkest depths of her own soul.
"Remember, you're not alone," Jake said, his brown eyes flashing. "I'm right here with you, Fiona. We'll get through this together."
Fiona nodded, her heart swelling, grateful to have Jake with her on this after everything they'd been through. They’d gone through highs and lows—when Jake was still taken by his ex-partner, Lauren, and Fiona had an unrequited crush on him, to when Fiona got into her own relationship just as Jake and Lauren were breaking up, and Jake had realized he had feelings for her. It seemed that the stars were never aligning for them; even when they were both single, Jake had been unable to commit to Fiona at first. But very recently, they had put it all aside and were diving deep into their relationship, something she couldn’t be more excited about.
At the same time, she knew that, ultimately, this burden was hers to bear.
With a quiet sigh, she ventured further into the darkness, determined to bring an end to the nightmare that had haunted her for so long.
As Fiona and Jake searched the house, Fiona couldn't help but notice the eerie atmosphere that seemed to cling to every surface like cobwebs. Layers of dust covered the chipped wooden floorboards, which creaked beneath their feet as they moved from room to room. Wallpaper hung in tattered strips, revealing the brittle bones of the house's structure - a testament to the years of neglect it had endured.
"Look at this," Jake murmured, shining his flashlight on a collection of old newspapers piled up in the corner of what must have once been a living room. "The dates... they're from around the time Joslyn disappeared."
Fiona's heart clenched at the mention of her sister, and she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Rummaging through the debris, she found nothing that pointed to Damien's presence. It was maddening, knowing that they were so close and yet still so far away from finding the answers they sought.
"Let's check upstairs," Jake suggested, his voice laced with determination.
"Stay close," Fiona replied, her voice wavering only slightly as they began climbing the staircase, its steps groaning in protest under their weight.
They scoured the first floor of the house, but it seemed to hold nothing more than the remnants of a lifelong abandoned. Peeling paint and shattered glass littered the floors while mold infested the damp walls. A sense of despair seeped into Fiona's heart, causing her to doubt if they would ever find anything that could lead them to Joslyn or any of the other missing girls. The newspaper with the decade-old dates intrigued her, but it wasn't enough to prove anything.
"Wait," Jake whispered suddenly, holding up a hand for silence. "Do you hear that?"
Fiona strained her ears, and then she heard it too – the faint sound of someone breathing, slow and steady. They exchanged a glance, and Fiona's heart pounded as they followed the source of the sound.
"Be ready for anything," Jake warned as they approached the door to a small bedroom at the end of the hallway.
With a deep breath, Fiona pushed open the door, her flashlight beam illuminating the figure of a man lying on a dirty mattress. Her heart raced as she stepped closer, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She drew a breath and prepared herself to confront the faceless man who had haunted
her dreams for a decade. The man who had taken her sister from her irrevocably changed the course of her life.
Fiona exchanged a look with Jake, who nodded. He had his gun ready, and Fiona knew he had her back. But she had to be the one to do this.
"Damien?" she called out tentatively, reaching out to shake the sleeping man awake.
"Wha –" the man croaked, his eyes fluttering open to reveal a face far too old and worn to belong to Damien, a man they estimated to be in his thirties, forties at most. Wrinkles carved deep lines into the man's skin, and a beard matted with dirt and grime obscured most of his lower face.
"This is the FBI--who are you?" Jake demanded, his voice gruff.
"Name's Frank," the disheveled old man replied, squinting up at them in confusion. "What're you two doin' here?"
"Wrong person," Fiona whispered. The crushing weight of yet another dead end settled heavily on her shoulders.
Though it wasn't the outcome they had hoped for, something in her refused to let go of the desperate need for answers. She looked to Jake, pleading for some form of solace. He nodded back at her. Maybe, somehow, someway, this could still lead somewhere.
"Frank, do you have any ID on you?" Jake asked.
"Uh, yeah," Frank stammered, fumbling in the pocket of his tattered pants. He pulled out a worn wallet and handed it over to Jake, who examined the contents with furrowed brows.
"Frank Lewis," he muttered under his breath, scrutinizing the photograph that bore little resemblance to the disheveled man before them. Fiona peered over his shoulder, taking it in. The birthdate indicated that Frank was well into his sixties – far older than the man they were looking for.
Fiona's heart sank. Jake's warm brown eyes flashed to hers, an apology written in them.
"He's not our guy, Fiona," he breathed out.
Fiona stared at the old man, her heart sinking as the weight of Jake's words sank in.
Her fingers dug into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists, the bitter taste of disappointment filling her mouth. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to finally confront the monster responsible for Joslyn's disappearance and bring him to justice. But that moment had slipped through her grasp once again, leaving her with nothing but a cold, empty feeling of uncertainty.
"Dammit!" she hissed, kicking the rotting floorboards in frustration. The sound echoed through the abandoned house, ...
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